


Apollo

by TheLastWhiteRose



Series: Greek Gods [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Implications, M/M, One Shot, Slice of Life, this is pretty gay, you get it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 04:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13473579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: His grip on Dean tightened. If he was Hyacinth, then Cas was Apollo, save for the fact that no being, originating from Heaven or Hell, could ever pry him from his grasp. He was the one who’d gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, and he’d be damned if he let go.





	Apollo

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty self indulgent, but I finished the eleventh season of Supernatural, so here it is!

Dean was beautiful.

It manifested itself in the defined slope of his jawline, the slight, almost imperceptible mischievous glint in his emerald eyes. Though his body was weathered, beaten down from years of stress and physical hardships, the beauty that had initially mesmerized Cas was still present. He anticipated Dean’s shift in his sleep, gently rearranging his own position to accommodate the resting angel.

In his sleep, Dean seemed no different than an average mortal. The melancholy that seemed to haunt his eyes was eradicated, soft vulnerability replacing it. For a moment, Cas felt like he was intruding, as if he wasn’t worthy enough to observe such a peaceful scene. The feeling quickly fled as the events of the past few hours bombarded Cas in explicit detail, ending in their current entanglement, with Dean’s head burrowed comfortable along the expanse of Cas’ chest. 

Cas hadn’t been aware as long as other angels. He didn’t have the experience, the cruciality the other angels possessed. He wasn’t as vital to survival as Michael, wasn’t as adept as Gabriel, or even as favored as Lucifer. He didn’t remember the Greeks, had the slightest recollection of their existence, but the stories he’d heard of them were legendary, awesome in the traditional sense of the word. When the other angels told him of the fantastic feats of the Greeks, of their stunning polytheistic belief system, he’d brushed it aside as unimportant, as he did with all human achievement. Humans tended to a state of warfare; they would build empires, develop languages, only for their systems to disintegrate when a superior military swept through their nation, destruction and death taking hold where peace and prosperity had laid claim. 

It was a fascinating thought, the Greeks. Zeus, Athena, Hera, their complex myths and backgrounds, the omnipresent role they played in citizens’ lives. As he glanced over Dean’s chiseled form, he was reminded of Hyacinth, the mortal that dared attract the adoration of not one, but two gods. Zephyros, god of the west winds, and Apollo, god of the arts. His life had been cut short by the jealous hand of Zephyros, by the wind gently guiding the discus Apollo threw to his head. 

His grip on Dean tightened. If he was Hyacinth, then Cas was Apollo, save for the fact that no being, originating from Heaven or Hell, could ever pry him from his grasp. He was the one who’d gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, and he’d be damned if he let go.


End file.
